"You do not understand, indeed, my poor Andrew," said my father, smiling sadly.
And he explained the matter in a few choice words. Andrew's brow darkened, and he struck his hand on the table.
"And there are thousands upon thousands of you Protestants in France, able men, and many of you gentlemen used to arms, and yet you suffer such tyranny!" said he. "Why do you not rise upon your oppressors, and at least have a fight for your lives?"
"Hush, hush, my son," said my father. "Would you have us rise in rebellion against our king—the Lord's anointed!"
"The king is a man like another man, when all is done," said my cousin sturdily; "and has a joint in his neck, as the old Scotchman said. I have been in America, my cousin, where our colonies are growing, and where they seem to do fairly well at a pretty good distance from any king. As to such a man as this Louis being the Lord's anointed, any one may believe that who likes. I don't; or, if he is, he is such an one as Saul or Rehoboam."
"Some of our people talk as you do," said my father, while I looked at my cousin's firm lips and sparkling eyes with great approval; "but we are too much divided among ourselves on the subject to make any plan of resistance possible."
"Then I would flee to some better place," said Andrew. "Come over to Cornwall and set up your tent. There is a fine estate to be bought, not far from Tre Madoc. Some of the lands have mines upon them, which my father believes could be worked to advantage, and you could give employment to many of your oppressed countrymen. Why not go thither at once?"
"And leave my poor people?"
"The people are not in so much danger as you are," answered Andrew. "It is the high tree that falls in the storm. Think of my aunt and cousin here, condemned to such things as you have told me of, or left desolate by your loss. Surely you should consider them as well as your tenants."
Andrew spoke with great warmth, yet with due modesty, and I liked him better and better every moment. My mother and I both looked at my father.